coffee, quiet, and conundrums
by bs13
Summary: Cosima is a washed-up actress. Delphine is the barista who's been tasked with ruining her. But it's easier said than done, to destroy someone you've grown quite fond of. AU.


**i haven't written for these two in what seems like forever. so i figured i'd finish up the first chapter of this not-very-long fic that i somehow have been working on for months? yikes. idk shit about celebrities & how corporations work BUT i've always wanted to write a celebrity AU, so...**

 **note: there are no clones! or a weird genetics plot. just pretend all the clones are somehow not played by tatiana maslany lmao**

 **(and also kira's a baby in this. for ummm reasons)**

* * *

There is a blurring figure standing before her.

Cosima Niehaus can't quite make it out yet, in her sleepy daze. She does, however, glimpse snatches of dark brown hair and smudged eyeliner; that's enough to relax back into a false sense of security. If it's Felix, he'll likely just toss a blanket over her and go back to sleep.

(Then she feels the wet permanent marker on her forehead.)

Cosima bats the offending hand hovering over her away with a groan. She feels the wet tip smudge her fingertips, but she ignores that for now. " _Sarah_ ," she whines, cracking open her eyes fully, "quit writing on my forehead."

"How'd you know it was me?" Sarah Manning demands, even without bothering to hide the permanent marker in hand.

"Felix wouldn't do this to me," Cosima says grumpily, and she sits up with a yawn, twisting her back in an attempt to get rid of the uncomfortable ache from sleeping on the couch. (It doesn't work.) "Where's coffee?"

"That's your job," Sarah replies, and she caps the marker and tosses it across the room before heading to the kitchen. She's clearly in yesterday's clothes—a short black dress, mesh tights, messy makeup—and likely has just as bad a hangover as Cosima does.

Which, _ow_. Cosima feels like there's a power drill going on in her skull. She stands up and fixes her glasses—she'd fallen asleep with them on, damn her drunken self—and debates venturing outside to buy real coffee or dealing with Sarah and Felix's ancient coffee maker. Pros of leaving: no gross coffee, no burns, and no Sarah. Cons: paparazzi.

Decision made, Cosima makes her way into the kitchen. Helena, Sarah's twin sister, is fast asleep at the table. Sarah seems intent on ruining everyone's life, because there's the word "cunt" in big, black letters on Helena's forehead.

"Do I want to know what you wrote on Felix's forehead?" Cosima asks, peering at the stove, where Sarah's making enough bacon to feed an army.

"Make an educated guess," Sarah quips, warding Cosima from stepping closer by waving a pair of grease-stained tongs in her direction. "D'you want breakfast?"

"Maybe. I think I'll go out for coffee, though. Want anything?"

Sarah shrugs, turning back to her bacon. "The tabloids are gonna love that," she comments instead. "You, bloody hungover again, looking like shit. It's not doing wonders for your image."

Cosima frowns, offended at the "looking like shit," but hardly giving a damn about the tabloids. "I'll gladly take a shower and get ready if you want me to, Sarah, but if you don't want coffee _quickly_..."

"Alright, alright, get your arse out of here already," Sarah gives in. "Get coffee for Fee and Helena, too." As Cosima makes her way out of the kitchen, Sarah quickly adds, "And take your bloody driver!"

"I'll _consider_ taking Scott," Cosima calls over her shoulder.

"You're taking him!" comes Sarah's loud voice, and before Cosima can leave, she adds, "You might want to wash off your forehead, too!"

Cosima ducks into the bathroom, looks in the mirror, and sighs. "At least you're changing it up," she yells at Sarah, all the while grimacing at the sight of her forehead.

"You're welcome!"

Cosima calls Scott. And while she waits, she washes the half-drawn penis off her face.

.

.

.

"Del," Krystal Goderitch groans, " _please_ tell me you're not reading your textbook right now."

Delphine Cormier confusedly looks up. "But I am..." she trails off, uncertain, at the exasperated look Krystal gives her. "Should I not do this in front of customers?"

"You are _missing_ the point," Krystal says, pointedly reaching over Delphine's shoulder and slamming her biology textbook shut. "Look around you! We're surrounded by singles!"

Delphine acquiesces and looks around, because she likes to humor Krystal. "Singles of...what?" she asks, patiently. She still doesn't understand American lingo; she's still relatively new to the country. The first thing that pops into her head is cheese. Is that even a thing? Singles of cheese?

"People. _Single_ people," Krystal emphasizes, swinging her arms out. "We could be getting you a boyfriend when the place isn't busy!"

The café typically never _is_ busy, Delphine's come to know, because Dyad is—as Krystal puts it—a typical hole-in-the-wall. (Delphine doesn't quite understand what that means, but she gets the general idea.) The owner, Aldous Leekie, tends to draw in what customers they _do_ get solely because he's a respected professor at the nearby college.

Delphine looks at the few people situated around the café. They tend to be people with oddly-dyed white hair and one white contact lens; Aldous jokes that they are the "ideal humans" of the world, which Delphine doesn't quite understand either.

"I think I will be fine without a boyfriend," Delphine says, aiming for politeness. She isn't one to judge, but somehow the idea of dating one of these "ideal humans" isn't appealing; they seem a bit stand-offish.

"Come _on_ , just look at the cute guy in the corner table. I can tell he wants you."

Delphine smiles, because the cute guy is decidedly _not_ looking at Delphine, but rather at Krystal. It warms her heart in a strange way; she knows that Krystal is willing to sacrifice flirting with the cute guy checking her out for Delphine's sake, and it's one of the nicest things she's ever done. But still, that doesn't mean Delphine wants to go and _actually_ flirt with the cute guy.

"Why don't you go and see if he wants something else?" Delphine suggests instead, an unspoken thanks-but-no-thanks in her voice. "I'll...what is the saying...hold down the place."

Krystal bites her lip, torn, but finally reaches back and removes her apron. "Fine, I'll take my break," she sighs dramatically, like it's _such_ a burden to go flirt with the guy interested in her. "But this isn't over."

Delphine smiles and watches her go, then discreetly cracks open her textbook again; it's such a slow day that she doesn't even try and hide the book as she's done in the past. The regulars don't care, and Aldous hardly drops in, so Delphine takes full advantage of her free time.

"Hey...do you work here?"

(Well, there is the issue of losing track of time, though.)

Delphine nearly shoves the book off the counter. "Yes, I work here," she babbles, flushing red. She's not so easily embarrassed, but the thought of being caught studying at work flusters her completely.

The brunette woman standing before Delphine doesn't look too bothered. But she does look _tired_. The makeup on her face is smudged, and she wears a red dress that's stained with something—alcohol, if the accompanying smell is any indication. She wears dark shades over her eyes, which she touches (perhaps out of habit) with black-tinged fingertips as she speaks.

"Sorry, I don't speak French. I mean, I probably would've known what you said back in high school, but I'm shit with foreign languages now," the woman says, wide smile accompanying her playful words.

Delphine freezes. Had she been...speaking French? She blushes harder. "I'm...sorry," she apologizes slowly. "Um, what can I get for you?"

"Two straight black coffees, one black decaf, and a caramel latte," the customer recites. As Delphine makes note of it, the woman stays by the counter, even after money and pleasantries have been taken care of. After a moment, she speaks again. "So is this the equivalent of a graveyard shift?"

It takes a moment for Delphine to notice she's being spoken to. "Oh! I am actually...not sure?" she says, because besides the woman standing there and the cute guy and Krystal in the corner, there's only one other person: a man, asleep by the window. "I think he is just sleeping."

"What? No, not like this place is an actual graveyard..." the woman trails off. "I just mean it's sort of dead. Metaphorically."

"As in...the building?"

The woman smiles, fainter this time. "Sorry. I'm confusing you."

"No, no, it is just—I do not understand American lingo so much," Delphine says, and she laughs, nervously. "I am the one who is sorry."

"Really? So are you, like, a French spy?" the woman asks teasingly.

"I am a transfer student," Delphine corrects, but she smiles a little. "I am sorry to...burst your bubble."

"Nah, it's cool. I think being a transfer student's way harder than being a spy, anyway," the woman jokes, then extends a hand across the counter. "I'm Cosima, by the way."

"Delphine. Enchantée."

Cosima grins and echoes, " _Enchantée_. As much as I want to ask you about your major and the research you must be doing," she says, lifting her sunglasses up off her face to reveal dark brown eyes, "I also really want some coffee."

(And Delphine realizes she hasn't started any of the orders yet. Oops.)

.

.

.

"Just remember Rachel needs you at the studio by three," Scott says helplessly, hands falling as he fails to open the passenger side door (Cosima beat him to the punch.)

"Yeah, sure." Cosima jumps out of the car, nearly dropping Sarah's coffee as she juggles to carry all four.

Scott's fingers twitch with worry. "Should I...help?"

"Don't worry—I got this. And I'll stop by to see the Wicked Witch of the West, too," Cosima assures her driver, but it does nothing for the sweat beading on Scott's worried forehead. "You don't need to drive me. I'll be sober enough by then."

Scott shuts the passenger side door, casting nervous glances at the paparazzi already lingering and calling Cosima's name around her door. "I'll be by at two thirty."

"You're no _fun_ ," Cosima groans, but she winks at him and shoulders her way into the apartment building anyway, expertly ignoring the flashes and yells that follow.

Inside, it's quite a sight to behold; Sarah's pacing the floor, clearly upset, while Helena sits cross-legged on the couch with bacon sticking out of her mouth. Felix looks half-asleep at the kitchen table, glumly stirring a cup that probably has tea in it.

"Cos!" Sarah yelps at the sight of Cosima. "Where the bloody hell have you been?!"

Felix and Helena don't care so much about Cosima, but they _do_ perk up at the sight of coffee.

"I could kiss you right now," Felix groans, taking a cup. (Cosima notices the word "twat" scrawled across his forehead but wisely doesn't comment.)

Helena slurps out of her cup, bacon in mouth and all, but frowns. "It is cold," she says sadly.

Cosima rubs her neck, sheepishly. "Um, yeah, sorry about that," she says. "I stayed a little too long at the coffee place. There was a girl—"

"It's _always_ a girl," Sarah sighs, taking her phone out of her cleavage. "Your stick-up-the-arse manager keeps sending me angry messages. _Apparently_ you went to some Neo place called Dyad."

"I just went for coffee," Cosima says. "I hardly went to start a war."

"The last thing we need is another ongoing battle with Neolution," Sarah gripes, tossing her phone onto the couch in favor of placing her hands on her hips. "How'm I supposed to get fucking TMZ off your ass?"

"I'm sure you'll think of something. It's your job," Cosima reminds her, and she takes a sip of her own coffee. Well, it _is_ cold, but at least Felix doesn't seem to care. And it's strangely really good, cold or not.

Sarah looks ready to argue some more, but then a baby's cries sound; Cal must've brought Kira by when Cosima was away. "You better not go back," she settles to caution instead, and then she rushes out of the room to go check up on her daughter.

Once she's gone, Felix raises his eyebrows expectantly at Cosima. "So what's this about a girl?"

"We just talked. I don't think she recognized me. It was pretty cool, actually," Cosima says.

Felix scoffs. "Just talked? That doesn't sound like the Cosima I know."

"Fuck off. She was cute," Cosima laughs, and that's the last they speak of the matter.

.

.

.

Aldous propositions Delphine a few days later.

"I'm sure you've seen the magazines," he says, fingers pressed together over the counter as he gets straight to the point. "Celebrity sightings bring a flock of people. If you can continue to make our café a place of interest, I would be willing to negotiate a raise."

Delphine, who has just arrived to work, is very, very confused. "I...do not understand," she says slowly, cautiously working on tying her apron on. "I have not seen any magazines."

"Cosima Niehaus," Aldous states, as if the name is enough explanation. "I'm sure you've seen her before. She came in a few days ago."

"I am not sure I know her...or remember so well, I—"

"Delphine," Aldous interrupts. "You know we are a proud Neolution-supporting establishment."

"Yes, of course." _As if she could forget._

"Then you must realize a Leda star coming by makes for _quite_ a headline," Aldous says. "If you can find some way to bring her back, I am prepared to pay you a hefty sum."

Delphine twists her hair back into a makeshift ponytail, still more concerned with taking her place behind the counter. "Leda?" she questions.

Aldous looks faintly annoyed now. "Project Leda. The company?"

"Oh, yes, of course." Delphine knows the story: Project Leda, along with its smaller partner Project Castor, were two entertainment companies that broke away from Neolution's label. For years now, the celebrities and higher-ups have been in a battle; Neolution to take Leda back, and Leda to discredit Neolution's reputation.

"Then, surely, you've heard of Beth Childs."

Delphine does know of Beth Childs. Her death had left tabloids and fans alike (like Krystal, who is the sole reason Delphine knows this) reeling in confusion. It has been a little over a year since Beth Childs committed suicide, but the world hasn't forgotten; Beth's impact as the one to break Leda away from Neolution was a highly publicized and meaningful affair, and has only cemented her status as one of Hollywood's finest.

"Yes. Very...unfortunate, her fate," Delphine says, simply. "How does Cosima tie in to this?"

"Beth's successor, the head of Leda, is Sarah Manning. If I am going to take down Leda," Aldous murmurs, his voice low despite the bustle of the café, "I need to break Sarah's sisters. Cosima's just been through a bad breakup, and I feel...well, that she might need a friend." He gives Delphine a thin, suggestive smile at that, as though that is all she needs to hear.

Delphine hesitates. She is not above manipulation (she takes advantage of Aldous's odd infatuation with her nearly every day), but she feels as though befriending someone to ruin their career for money is beyond manipulation. It seems illegal, maybe. But, she reasons as she looks into Aldous's cold, expecting eyes, she doesn't have much of a choice.

"What do I need to do?"

.

.

.

"Yo, Rachel," Cosima says cheerfully, dropping a bag on her manager's desk as she drops into the chair facing Rachel's desk. "I brought you a doughnut."

Rachel Duncan stares impassively back, tapping her blood-red nails against the metal of the nameplate facing Cosima. " _Yo_ ," she echoes, voice dripping in aloofness. "Is there another wild reason you're here thirty minutes later than usual?"

"You know me—always late." Cosima beams, but even her brightest smile isn't enough to make Rachel relax.

"You're a mess," snaps Rachel sharply. "Does Sarah not manage your PR when she can? I'm sure she has plenty of free time, seeing as how she never seems to come in to the office."

Cosima shrugs. Sarah _does_ seem to think CEO stands for "confuse everything officer;" she rarely comes in to the office, and when she does, she's drunk and has a lot to say about how much she hates the job. It's not exactly flattering for the company, considering Sarah then has to handle most of the PR afterwards.

"Hey man, it's not my fault Hollywood likes break-ups," Cosima says, pulling her phone out to send a quick text to Scott. (She'd promised to let him know she was alive after seeing Rachel.)

"That _is_ your fault," Rachel retorts, making Cosima look up in confusion. "I informed you to pick your silly hookups much more effectively."

At that, Cosima rolls her eyes. She's heard the speech: no one's worth getting involved with unless they can be bought off, and if they're not bought off they're a liability, blah blah blah. Rachel's solution to everything is to throw money at the problem, which unfortunately did not work with Cosima's ex-girlfriend, Emi, who instead spoke out to the press on how Cosima "ripped out her heart" (Emi's words, because Cosima thought it was a much tamer break-up than _that_ ).

"I'm sorry I didn't pick a money-hungry groupie like you wanted me to," Cosima says with a straight face, to which Rachel just frowns at. Cosima can feel the laugh threatening to burst past the facade, though, so she coughs to change the subject. "Um, so I promised Scott this would only take about 15 minutes..."

"It's been three." Rachel reaches into her desk and slams down a couple laminated photos, all of them of Cosima (in shades and a dirty dress) going into a coffee shop. "In the remaining time we have, I'd suggest you explain _this_."

Cosima adjusts her glasses, mock-squinting at the photo. "I'd say the woman in the photo is a washed-up, hungover actress who failed to properly wash off the half-drawn penis on her face. Pity."

"I have no time for your games, Cosima." Rachel's nostrils flare. (Cosima thinks of fire-breathing dragons and nearly laughs all over again.) "You entered a Neolutionist place."

"I mean, I publicly apologized on Twitter..."

"And look how that made us seem. As though we're _feuding_." Rachel's hard, cold stare slowly begins to chip away at Cosima's good mood.

"...well we are."

Rachel sighs, fruitless warning be damned. "The media," she says slowly, eerily calm as she pinches the bridge of her nose, "does not need to know that. Do I make myself clear?"

"You got it. No more publicly apologizing for entering the wrong place," Cosima assures her, but Rachel still looks far from pleased.

"You'll have to do some damage control." She's back with the laminated pictures, this time one of Aldous Leekie (who Cosima recognizes, because hey, the guy's a _genuis_ director). "I've arranged for you to go back to the café. Aldous will be there, as will some press. You are going to clarify your Twitter statement was made as a joke to appease fans, and was not intended to disrespect Aldous's establishment."

"Do I have a scheduled time, too?" Cosima jokes, but her grin tapers off as Rachel starts to smile too.

Rachel looks dangerously amused. "I'm glad you're catching on."

.

.

.

Krystal looks so jittery, one would think _she_ is the one being interviewed.

"I can't _believe_ this," she repeats for the third time, excitedly squeezing Delphine's elbow. "A celebrity, coming _here_."

Delphine is more nervous than she acts, truth be told. "She has been here before," she says, aiming to add the sanity the situation needs.

"Yes, and met _you_." Krystal nudges her hip against Delphine's, voice lowering as if the camera-toting people surrounding the counter are going to listen in to their conversation. "I can't believe you didn't recognize her! I've completely failed you—how could I have forgotten to open up your world to Cosima Niehaus movies?"

"I don't even watch movies," Delphine says, but it's a pointless argument; Krystal's already pulling out her phone and loading examples of movies Cosima's been in.

"She hasn't been in anything recent, sure, but look, I enjoyed her movie _The Trip_ —"

Aldous Leekie chooses that moment to stride into Dyad, and the cameras go off in excitement. People start going off a mile a minute, each person vying for Aldous's attention, but he completely ignores the cameras; instead, he approaches the counter.

Krystal immediately fluffs the ends of her hair (because the cameras naturally follow Aldous as he goes). "Hey boss," she says cheerfully, popping the gum in her mouth loudly. "Need a caffeine fix?"

"A green tea would be delightful, if you'd please," Aldous replies. "Add it to my tab."

"Got it," Krystal says, all bright smiles and cheer for the cameras.

Aldous meets Delphine's eye, briefly, as if checking to make sure she knows her job. Delphine just gives the quickest of nods—a blink-and-miss sort—before stepping back from the counter as if to help Krystal. Then it's just a waiting game, as Aldous sips his tea and Krystal fluffs her hair and Delphine sends her chemistry textbook a few longing glances.

Cosima Niehaus walks in about twenty minutes later, sheepishly waving as the cameras go off in a flurry. She seems unfazed by the attention though, expertly sidestepping their advances to shake Leekie's outstretched hand.

"Ms. Niehaus," Aldous says curtly, his smile borderline forced. "I believe we agreed to meet at eight thirty."

"Right, hi, Mr...Leekie? I'm kind of always late, so kind of always sorry." Cosima beams at him, pushing her sunglasses up out of her eyes.

"Please," Aldous says, his grip tightening, "call me Aldous. Keeps the gray hairs away." That earns him a few chuckles from the cameras, and his smile becomes much more relaxed.

"Then just call me Cosima," replies Cosima, tongue-in-cheek. "Wouldn't want my hairs going gray either." There are a few polite titters, and Aldous's smile gets tighter.

"Of course. Let's begin, shall we?" he says, and graciously leads Cosima to a nearby table to begin their interview.

Delphine watches the interview with only mild interest. She can't hear much from her spot behind the counter, but she takes note of the cameras recording from every possible angle, the cameras that flash for pictures, the reporter and her lackey jotting down notes to likely write up the interview online. Police have already begun to line up outside the door, keeping fans from pressing their way inside, but there is a wave of phones being pressed to the glass windows anyway.

"This is surreal," Krystal whispers as she starts to wipe down the counter, eyes fixed on the wave of fans outside. "My ex-boyfriend is going to be _so_ jealous. Wait until I 'accidentally' tag him in a photo I take with Cosima Niehaus."

Delphine laughs, finally, the thought easing some of her nervousness. "Just like you 'accidentally' tagged him when taking a picture with Mr. Leekie?"

"I swear, he is Mr. Leekie's biggest fanboy," Krystal scoffs, clicking her tongue. "He tried to get back together with me for, like, a week after he saw my post on Instagram."

"And you...didn't accept?" Delphine questions, because for as much as Krystal complains about her ex-boyfriend, Krystal also spends a fair amount of time crying over him when drunk.

"No!" Krystal huffs, but does deflate some. "...I mean, he was a convenient booty call at the time, but no! He spent an hour talking about Mr. Leekie's business as if I didn't get enough of that from Mr. Leekie himself."

"I see," says Delphine, who really doesn't, but she changes the subject anyway to some sale Krystal had gone to the day before.

Krystal dives into the topic eagerly, already pulling up pictures of her purchases, as well as detailed explanations of every thing she'd done. About thirty minutes into this long, rather unnecessary talk, the cameras start flashing rapidly and Cosima and Aldous both stand and shake hands again. Aldous's smile is so fake it looks plastic; Cosima seems to be grinning enough for the both of them.

Aldous catches Delphine's eye as he gracefully exits, most of the cameras clamoring after him. Cosima lingers behind, fingers tapping against the table, but then she catches sight of Delphine and lights up; she makes a beeline towards the counter, unaware of how Krystal nearly stops breathing.

"Hey, it's you again," Cosima says. "Delphine, right?"

"Yes," Delphine replies, patiently ignoring the way Krystal hovers by her elbow. "I must admit, I was unaware that you were famous."

"Famous? Nah. I'm more like a C-list celebrity, if anything," Cosima chuckles, and then she turns to Krystal, award-winning smile on her face. "Sorry, I'm super rude, just talking up your friend."

"That's okay!" Krystal nearly yells, eyes shining with unadulterated awe. "She has no friends besides me."

Delphine frowns. "That is not true," she protests, because while it _is_ , that doesn't mean Krystal is supposed to say it.

Cosima looks between the two of them, nearly laughing at the way they interact. "No way that's true," she agrees, gaze lingering on Delphine, which makes Delphine tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear self-consciously.

It's nothing, really; Delphine has never been quite so _shy_ around someone before. She'd struck an easy friendship up with Krystal when she first started working. This shouldn't be any different, despite the way Cosima just _looks_ at Delphine, like she's trying to memorize every line of her face, with an inexplicable softness to her gaze that Delphine can't quite match.

"I hate to ask, but, can I maybe get a picture with you?" Krystal asks, sheepish for once in her life.

"Yeah, sure," Cosima says, friendly smile still on her lips. "Make sure to tag me in it. I'll retweet it or something."

(Krystal looks like she's about to faint at the idea. Delphine just _knows_ Krystal will start gushing on about how her lame ex-boyfriend will react to that after Cosima's gone.)

After the picture's gone and taken, Delphine ventures to blurt, "Oh! Did you want to order something?"

"Oh, yeah!" Cosima brightens like she'd forgotten. "Just a caramel latte? To go? I have a meeting right after this."

"I got it," Krystal says, immediately jumping to the task while Delphine laughs and shyly rings up the purchase at the register.

"So, um," Cosima says, following Delphine and tapping her ringed knuckles on the counter, "you never did tell me about your whole transfer student thing."

"You did not have the time," Delphine reminds her as she slides Cosima's credit card.

"...right." Cosima's acting odd, fidgeting with the sleeves of her sweater, then the edge of the credit card when Delphine hands it back. "I was wondering if, uh, you'd want to maybe get coffee sometime?"

"That would be nice," Delphine says with a smile, which seems to be a big load off Cosima's chest (seeing how she visibly relaxes). Delphine had never seen a girl so anxious when suggesting to meet up. Perhaps Cosima doesn't make friends too easily.

"Maybe not here," Cosima suggests. "But preferably somewhere _like_ here, where cute baristas don't know who I am." She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a rumpled slip of paper, which she jots down her phone number on. "Text me?" she says, holding out the paper. "Just whenever you're free. Or even if you're just bored, sitting here and serving C-list celebrities."

Delphine takes the paper, brain frozen at the words _cute barista_. Is Cosima implying—?

"Here's your latte!" Krystal takes that moment to chime in, crowding it into Cosima's hands. "It's hot, careful!"

Cosima lets Krystal fuss, eyes never straying from Delphine. "Thanks," she says, smile fading, and then she steps back (though not before stuffing a twenty-dollar bill into the tip jar). "I'll...talk to you later?"

"Of course." Delphine nods, faintly, the words _cute barista_ vanishing. Perhaps it was all a jest, and she finds some comfort in the idea. "I will text you."

That wide smile comes back, and then Cosima really _is_ gone.

.

.

.

Cosima slams the door behind her, ignoring the cameras and people outside, as she drops everything in her arms on the already overstuffed couch. Her roommates seemingly haven't moved all day; Sarah and Felix are both crammed on the one clear couch cushion, a bag of chips between them, and Helena's sprawled out on the floor asleep with a dozing baby Kira on her chest.

"How was damage control?" Sarah asks through a mouthful of chips, mindful not to speak too loud.

"Wouldn't you know, PR manager?" Cosima retorts, dropping to the floor at Felix's feet and accepting the bag of chips he passes over. "Rachel just informed me that I did 'surprisingly well.'"

"High praise," Felix snorts. "I'm sure you two are just going to become the best of friends now."

Cosima stuffs a handful of chips in her mouth. "God," she grumbles, "don't say that. I think I'd sooner befriend Aldous Leekie."

"Oh yeah, how'd that go? Was he a wanker?" Sarah asks. "Pr'bly wanted you to follow him on Twitter or something, right?"

"He seemed fine." Cosima shrugs. "I don't know. The cameras love him, anyway."

"'The cameras' get paid a pretty penny every time they get a picture of his bald head," Sarah sneers. "They'd trip over themselves to get a picture of Felix's arse if they could."

"Hey! My arse would be the most quality content they'd have in years!"

"Yeah, Leekie's a total Hollywood cheese story." Cosima shakes her head. "What are we doing for dinner?"

"I dunno," Sarah says, popping yet another chip in her mouth. "I'd tell you to go get us something, but then you'd show up two hours later with something about a _girl_ as your bloody excuse."

Cosima's cheeks flush, which of course Felix pounces on.

"Oh, don't tell me," he says, half condescending, "that girl was back at the coffee shop?"

"...well, she works there."

Sarah takes that moment to whip the bag of chips at Cosima's head. "Are you out of your damn mind?" she snaps, ignoring Cosima's pained _ow_. "No Neolution girls!"

"You don't know if she's Neolution," Cosima mutters, rubbing the side of her head indignantly.

"She works at a Neolution place. Of course she's Neolution! She's probably just trying to get bloody fifteen minutes of fame," Sarah says, with a tone that sounds _way_ too bitter to be impersonal.

Cosima squints at her. "Is this about—"

"No," Sarah cuts her off.

But this is _totally_ about Paul, and Cosima and Felix exchange looks. This completely contradicts Sarah's utterances in the last few months (usually she'll mutter "he can fuck himself" whenever Paul's name is said, anyway, and rant to the wind over his stupid face).

"Sarah," Felix ventures to murmur, "if you want to talk about it—"

"Oh, shut _up_." Sarah angrily stands up, reaching down to pick up baby Kira and transfer her to a crib. "Just end it with the Neolution girl, yeah? Last thing I need's another ex-girlfriend of yours walking all over me."

"Emi wasn't that bad," Cosima argues, but both Felix and Sarah give her disapproving looks, so she shuts up on that note. "I guess this is a bad time to say I asked the Neolution girl out?"

Sarah cradles Kira's little head, gentle and careful, but looks Cosima dead in the eye and growls, "You _cunt_."

(Felix laughs his ass off.)

.

.

.

Delphine meets Cosima for coffee.

She had been hesitant, of course. But Aldous, when she'd informed him of the possibility of meeting Cosima for coffee, had been adamant that Delphine set up a time to meet up herself. Delphine hadn't even told Krystal; she'd just let Aldous call someone to take over her shift, and she'd taken a taxi to a different coffee place two blocks away when Cosima agreed.

So, she sits and waits. And tries to ignore how out of place she feels, because this coffee shop looks more like a grungy bar than anything. (Cosima is also very, very late.) Delphine is fiddling with her phone, wondering if she should maybe actually look up Cosima's name for herself and read up about her, when the chair across from hers is suddenly filled.

"Hey! I am _so_ sorry." Cosima drops her bag on the table, accidentally spilling half of its contents, and she grimaces and starts scooping up the mess of receipts and knickknacks in her hands. "God, I totally slept in. I didn't mean to almost stand you up."

"It's okay," says Delphine politely, and she awkwardly shifts her coffee out of the way of Cosima's frantic hands trying to cram her spilled bag's contents back.

"Did you already order?" Cosima looks crestfallen at the fact, oddly enough. "Now I'm _more_ sorry. I was supposed to do that."

"I invited you," Delphine corrects her. "May I buy you a coffee instead?"

"No way! You deal with coffee all day long. I got it." Cosima disappears with a clear intent on getting a coffee for herself, but ends up spending a few minutes too long at the counter when she's recognized and stops to take pictures. She comes back with a coffee in hand and an apologetic smile on her face. "Sorry. People really still recognize me, even after I've faded into obscurity."

"I suppose I am the only barista you've met who has not known you, then," Delphine jokes.

"That actually may be true." Cosima grins, tongue poking out between her teeth. "So does that mean I'm mysterious to you?"

"Oh, you certainly are," Delphine says. "You are very strange."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" Cosima quirks an eyebrow, curious, as she takes a sip from her cup. And instantly burns her tongue. "Ah, shit," she swears, setting down her mug so quickly it sloshes over.

Delphine feels a small burst of laughter break past her lips, and she shakes her head. She's never seen someone so clumsy. Or someone as _interesting,_ to be completely honest. "Good," she says, finally. "Very good."

(Cosima's following smile is slow, satisfied, and the sight of it stirs an odd feeling in Delphine's stomach.)

"Well if I'm mysterious," Cosima says, "then you're a freaking conondrum. Tell me about you."

"What about me?" Delphine questions, stirring her long-cold cup just to give her hands something to do. She feels exposed to Cosima's piercing gaze; Cosima never once looks away, as though she's staring right at Delphine's soul.

"Anything," Cosima says. "Your research, your job, your family, your favorite color. You could recite that giant textbook you were reading the other day if you want."

"I wouldn't torture you that way," Delphine chuckles. "I'm afraid I am about as boring as that book, though."

Cosima scoffs. "Now that, I doubt," she says. "Come on, mystery girl. There's got to be more to you than being a transfer student and barista."

Delphine feels guilty all at once, because Cosima is so genuine and nice, and Delphine is just here to get intel for Aldous. Delphine looks down at the table unconcously, shrugging because she hates this all of a sudden. She hates having to _do_ this, because in another world, another time, she'd love to be Cosima's friend. Just to be her friend.

But she doesn't get that luxury here. She tries to smile, looking back up. "Okay," she says. "My favorite color is green."

" _Now_ we're getting somewhere," Cosima declares, eyes sparkling so vibrantly, so lively, that that odd feeling comes back, swirling uncomfortably in Delphine's stomach.

(Delphine has never felt more like a fish out of water.)

* * *

 **i don't plan for this to be too long. maybe 3 or 4 chapters? hopefully? thanks for reading! and if you want to find me, i'm over on tumblr at pippytmi !**


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